


Return of the Yoobs

by Kiiratam



Series: The Non-Vytal Weekend [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alleged Poetry, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiratam/pseuds/Kiiratam
Summary: It's the last day before the Vytal festival, and Yang and Blake are enjoying a quiet moment that's about to be TOTALLY RUINED BY POETRY.A follow-up toYoobies. Takes place the day before the start of Volumes 3 (My BMBLB fic index).
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Series: The Non-Vytal Weekend [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586437
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Return of the Yoobs

"Sooooo - what have you been working on all afternoon?" Yang leaned out of the top bunk to look down at Blake.

  
She flipped her notebook shut before Yang could see anything. "Oh, you know. Torrid smut. The usual."

  
Yang snorted. It certainly wasn't _atypical_. "Well, I just finished my magazine, so if you want me to read it, now's a good time."

  
"I _did_ actually just finish."

  
"Great! And Weiss is off at rehearsal, so I can do a **Dramatic Reading**." Yang held our her hand for the notebook, grinning.

  
"Mmmm, no."

  
"Aww, come on, Blake! Ruby's off on Patch, the Vytal Tournament starts tomorrow, and I'm sooooooo booooooored!" To really sell her point, Yang went limp, arms dangling off the side of the bed, eyes half-lidded.

  
Blake gave her arm a poke. And another. "You just seem dead to me."

  
In sepulchral tones, Yang pronounced, "Only the spiciest of content can revive me. Or dinner time. One of those."

  
"Dinner it is, then. Just hang there for another two hours." Blake went back to her notebook, hiding her smile behind it.

  
"Aaaaargh. You got me." The blood was starting to rush to Yang's head anyway. "Wanna hand me a book?"

  
"Nope."

  
"Work, work, work." Yang shifted and rolled out of bed, since Blake was determined to Make Her Suffer. She was just starting to look at book titles, trying to figure out which ones she hadn't read yet - when Blake poked her in the ribs.

  
"Hey."

  
"Shhhh, Blake, I'm smut-hunting."

  
More poking, increasingly insistent. "Hey."

  
Rolling her eyes, Yang turned to face her friend. "Yesssssss?"

  
"Pay attention to me."

  
"Okay, but you have to _do_ something." And _that_ was a lie, because Yang could pretty happily just stare at Blake. How pretty her hair was, and how awesome she was at make-up, and how fluidly she moved, until she exploded into a whipcrack of motion -

  
"I was planning on it." Blake sat up straight in bed, pulling at the bow in her hair. "Can you get the curtains?"

  
Yang bounded up, her mouth suddenly parched, and that little bit of light headedness was probably just from being upside down and standing up too fast - and Blake was taking her bow off - it had to be important - it had to be _super_ important - what could - ?

  
Making herself go slow, Yang blew out a long breath as she made sure the curtains were completely shut and the windows were locked, because sometimes it seemed like Sun didn't know what the hallways were _for_...

  
Her voice deliberately very casual, Yang asked, "Want me to get the door too?" She really hoped she actually sounded casual. They had just been joking around - the atmosphere felt all wrong for a serious talk.

  
\- But maybe it was that Blake was finally comfortable enough, finally safe enough to talk about herself -

  
"Sure. I don't think Weiss locked it."

  
\- Or she still didn't want to talk about the past, but maybe Blake had come to some kind of conclusion about now, and the two of them -

  
Yang crossed the room, and checked the door. Weiss had not, in fact, locked it. But she had closed it, which was sometimes more than Ruby managed. Locking it, Yang briefly considered dragging one of the desks in front of it.

  
But _maybe_ , after yesterday, Weiss wouldn't just barge in. Maybe. Turning around, Yang faced her friend. Who had her ribbon lying on her pillow, and her top ears up and alert.

  
Swallowing, telling herself that everything was going to be fine, Yang asked, "What's the plan?"

  
"Want to come sit over here?" Blake patted the bed beside her.

  
Trying desperately not to leap to any conclusions - and putting her mental vaulting pole down, and taking off her winged boots and - Yang sat down on Blake's bed. "So...?

  
She was smiling. That was a good sign? Probably? ...Not that Yang would want Blake to stop smiling, even if her grin heralded apocalypses.

  
"I wanted to read something to you."

  
"Oh. Um, I mean, great! I just -" Yang motioned at the top of her head. "- No bow?"

  
Blake shook her head. "I thought you might want to take a video. And I wanted it to be just for you."

  
"Oh. Um -" Yang knew she was repeating herself. She tried to find new, better words. "Must be pretty special." Those worked.

  
"That's the idea." Blake paused. "So were you going to get your scroll out...?"

  
"Right, yeah, on it!" Yang fumbled her scroll out - managing not to drop it on the floor or Blake's bed, but it was a near thing - unrolled it, and got ready to record.

  
Blake brushed her hair back off of her shoulders, and turned to face Yang fully, picking up her notebook. "All ready? I look okay?"

  
"Great! The writer in her natural habitat."

  
"My hair is probably a mess."

  
It was not. It looked perfect, and soft, and silky, and Yang really wanted to reach out and touch it - "It _also_ looks great. If anything, you need to mess it up some, so it looks like you've been grappling with your muse, and neglecting your appearance. More artistic."

  
Rolling her eyes, Blake opened her notebook. "Start whenever."

  
"Okay, going. " Yang hit record, and tried to keep at least some of her attention on her scroll, so Blake actually stayed in the middle of the screen, but she really wanted to pay attention to Blake, who had started to read from her notebook. Slow, and almost hesitantly at first, but as Blake got into it, the rhythm of the words became stronger, and her delivery became more aimed at Yang.

  


"I sing to praise a mighty shield; well-wrought,  
Well-curved to fend fell blows against the heart.  
Such was the cunning of the craft that brought  
Me from a-far to marvel at the art."

"A great burden to bear but still - I thought  
Such worthy weight - in honor set apart.  
How proud, deserving all the gazes caught.  
My tongue twists, trips I know not where to start..."

"For beauty overwhelming must be sought.  
Too much for legions of poets to chart.  
Majesty bowls me over - tact forgot -  
And from me does my dear reason depart."

"I can no longer hide or flee my lust,  
For what I judge sublime to see: Yang's bust."

  


Blake's gaze very deliberately wandered lower, not keeping eye contact with Yang at all.

  
"...Seriously?" It was all Yang could manage. That, and stopping the recording.  


  
"I got inspired!" Blake's grin was enormous. " I've got a few more in progress, but they're not **sonnets** , so I figured I'd start with the most impressive one." She paused. "Well, apart from the epic poem in dactylic hexameter, but that's probably going to take me at least a few more years."

  
She really had her lust eyebeams on high, addressing her muse directly.

  
But, of course, that **was** the joke.

  
Yang took a deep breath - mostly to try to get her brain actually **working** again, but if it helped knock Blake off of her offensive, she'd take that too. "You realize, of course, this means war."

  
Blake snickered behind her hand. "Were you going to start writing poetry now?"

  
Crossing her arms and leaning forward, Yang said, " Oh yeah. It's going to be **terrible**. It's just going to crawl inside your brain and die. And you will never ever **ever** be able to forget my ode to the Bellabooty."

  
Blake leaned closer, actually addressing Yang, instead of her yoobies. "Well you'd better study quick, because I already got a fall coat. And it's ankle length."

  
Narrowing her eyes, Yang said, "I thought the deal was that you don't hide the Bellabooty, I don't hide my yoobies."

  
"Please." Blake glanced down. "Like you could."

  
"I will go buy a binder _specifically_ to spite you!"

  
Glowering, Blake flopped back against her pillow. "Fine! Then I'll just write poems about your butt!"

  
"Ha! As if! My butt is unremarkable!"

  
"It is not!"

  
"Literally nothing to poetize about it!"

  
"The dragon at rest/hiding the best of her hoard/she sits upon it!"

  
"Haikus don't count!" Yang paused, asking in a calmer voice. "Also, did you just-"

  
"No, that one was from the second week of classes." And Blake immediately throttled back up into their discussion, before Yang could even _start_ processing that. "And what do you mean, haikus don't count?!"

  
Nora's voice sailed in under the door. "Too short!"

  
"Yeah! " Yang jerked her thumb at the door. "What she said!"

  
Blake rolled her eyes. "It's always about **length** with amateurs! Brevity is a virtue!"

  
The door shifted as Nora leaned against it. "Ouch. Sucks for you, Yang."

  
Yang turned to address the door. "Whose side are you _on_ , Nora?"

  
"Uh, whichever gets me more free entertainment. Duh. Go back to screaming smutty poems, Blake."

  
"Um..." And _now_ Blake was actually consciously thinking about the game they'd been playing, and she was probably going to light the bed on fire with her face - 

  
Shrugging and smiling, Yang went for the bookshelf. She pulled a battered volume out, and sat down on the floor. "Okay, Nora, these are selections from the torrid tales of that one half-demon with a snake for a dick."

  
"Wait, _what_? He has a **what**?"

  
Yang just started reading. "'Zhong pulled the beautiful widow close, with a crushing urgency that he never knew he could feel. From his trousers, his erection hissed to life.'"

  
"Yang, Yang, tell me you're making this up."

  
Sliding out of bed, Blake sat down on the floor next to Yang, resting her cheek on Yang's shoulder. Her face was still hot.

  
"'Oh, Zhong,' the widow breathed her breath hot on the young and taut muscles of his chest, 'show me how virile and hard-working you can be.' But Zhong knew that the times for words were past, as primal urges awoke in him and he tore at the fastenings of her clothes with manful indifference to the fineness of the stitching and the price of the well-made jade buttons that went bouncing off into the corners of the room. Venom and blood coursed through his veins, and his trousers tore themselves as his viper ripped through.'"

  
Nora pounded on the door. "Blake, stop her! Saaaaaaaave meeeeeeee!"

  
Blake just burrowed a little closer. And Yang kept reading.


End file.
